


Meant to Share This Light

by tumbleweedfarm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, M/M, Yeah you read that right, do you ever look at your docs and cry a little, moth au, there was only one lamp, they're moths, this was a mothstake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29066655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbleweedfarm/pseuds/tumbleweedfarm
Summary: What if we were moths?And there was only one lamp?
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 69
Kudos: 242





	Meant to Share This Light

**Author's Note:**

> They're moths. That's it that's the fic.

Atsumu chased the light from the day he was born. Hatched, really, but the steps he takes on his way to his destination are cast aside, bleached into irrelevance by the alluring rays he seeks.

Of course, those who came before Atsumu tell him there is no hope. But the light is too enticing, too precious to stop. Atsumu feels the call stronger than others, he’s told. Maybe golden wings were meant to hold the sun, they say.

Nestled into the corner of a lonely porch is the brightest light of all. It blooms into view when the sun slips under the horizon and the sky bleeds blue. Most of his family and friends have abandoned it. It’s unreachable, they say. They’ve hit their wings too many times to go on.

Atsumu almost gave up on the light when Osamu left. But he had a point to prove, a legacy to write. He would reach the light.

There is a certain rush to a seemingly endless chase. The night air whipping Atsumu’s wings, tousling the soft fibers on his body and twisting him toward that ever-elusive brilliance. For most of his life, Atsumu had felt the thrill alone.

But lights do not shine for one moth alone. 

Atsumu nearly misses him at first. He moves quickly, yes, but that’s not the reason for his near-invisibility. When the stranger moves again, a striking silhouette against the treasured light, Atsumu sees him.

Wings of deep black cast over Atsumu’s vision, bleeding ink into his light. Who could this stranger be, to think himself so important that he blocks Atsumu from his chase? 

Atsumu thinks about saying something, maybe knocking this stranger out of the way. But the wings pass, opening up Atsumu’s endless path once again. The call is much louder than the flutter of midnight wings. 

In the morning, when the porch lights dim and the sun swallows the sky, Atsumu wonders if the stranger was a figment of his imagination. A specter, haunting him on his ceaseless chase. But there, right on the railing of the creaky porch, is the stranger.

Atsumu settles on a support beam nearby. In the blanket light of day, those inky wings hold every bit of the night’s clarity. For once, Atsumu feels called to the dark, but the night takes bravery with it once the sun rises. So he watches this little piece of midnight, sitting on the porch, until the lamps come on again. 

Of course, the call of the lamp stirs Atsumu from his perch and drags him toward the glow. And as the pull becomes irresistible, as Atsumu chases the light, the stranger chases right alongside him. 

It feels both familiar and wrong. A new partner—no, not a partner, but a competitor—basking in the light’s rays isn’t what Atsumu had counted on. What if this new moth reaches the light before him? What if golden wings wither under the newcomer?

And yet, as Atsumu watches the stranger, he can’t help but bask in his passion for slamming his head full force into lightbulbs. He moves with a sort of grace that Atsumu can’t deny.

Morning comes, as it always does, and Atsumu questions like he never has before. 

Why this moth? Why this particular chip of the night sky? Why, after all this time alone, is Atsumu flying down to sit behind the newcomer? Out of all the questions bouncing around Atsumu’s poppyseed brain, one makes itself clear. 

“What’s your name?” Atsumu asks those dark wings. What name could be pinned to the night, to the clearest black Atsumu has ever seen? 

Atsumu should really learn not to trust extremes. The moth turns, revealing the most beautiful midnight eyes. 

“Sakusa,” The stranger—no, not a stranger anymore—answers. “Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

It’s a beautiful name, much like the holder. It feels too great, too indulgent for Atsumu to speak aloud. 

“And yours?”

“Oh,” Atsumu’s antenna twitches. “Miya Atsumu.”

Sakusa settles into his perch without another word.

“So, Omi,” Atsumu taps his back leg on the old wood of the porch. “What brings ya here?”

Sakusa squints. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Of course it is. All moths feel called to the brightest light they can find. It should be obvious, but Atsumu feels the stir of something else in his nonexistent stomach. A new call.

It’s easy to forget the new passions of day when the night falls. 

Sakusa leaps toward the lamp first. It’s new, having to follow where Atsumu only ever led. It feels good.

Atsumu hurtles toward the lamp with a new fervor, a path laid out in front of him. Sakusa’s presence on the porch lights a fire of competition that hasn’t burned in a long time. And they dance.

They slam into the light until the sun rises. The cover of Sakusa’s wings no longer invades Atsumu’s vision, but blankets it in inky comfort. Even as the lamp shines, Atsumu can’t help but think the dark is beautiful.

Atsumu only knows the endless chase. Night after night, Sakusa slides right alongside Atsumu, at once a comfort and a competitor. The exhilaration of another moth, _a partner_ , shines out from Atsumu’s chest and blends with the light. 

The greatest shock to a perpetual chase is an ending.

As winter nights warmed by the lamp give way to the heat of spring, the humans emerge and occupy the porch. Atsumu never understood the humans. They only ever look away from the beauty of the lamp.

That must be where their vicious nature comes from, Atsumu thinks as he watches a human crush a fly under a newspaper. There is no light in those who don’t seek it.

Atsumu was always told to be careful. The light distracts from the known, from the dangerous. But the lamps come on, and the chase begins again.

Sakusa seems to move with more grace tonight. He swoops in larger circles, reflects the lamp’s light off his wings. He’s beautiful, he really is. Beauty shines the brightest before it’s gone.

Atsumu should have seen the shoe coming. 

For a single, sobering second of clarity, the light is blocked as a rubber sole swipes through the rays. Atsumu may have seen many sunsets, but he had never truly seen the night fall until Sakusa plummets to the ground. 

The light that they chased together for so many nights is dimmer, now. It’s dim enough that Atsumu can tear his eyes away to look at Sakusa’s wings, those beautiful wings, now crumpled on the floor of the old wood porch. 

Everyone leaves, Atsumu thinks, allowing himself a moment of selfishness. Everyone leaves, and Atsumu will continue alone.

The lamp can’t shine as bright as Sakusa’s eyes. Atsumu chases it anyway. 

Atsumu chases like he’s never chased before. He wants the finish line. He wants to break through the glass of the bulb and burn. 

He won’t let the dark and cold of night to comfort him again. 

When the sun rises, Atsumu finds the brightest ray he can to bask in. Everyone leaves, he thinks. 

Even the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't perceive me.
> 
> Perceive this [art](%E2%80%9C) instead, by the artist who inspired the fic and is funnier than I’ll ever be. 
> 
> Twitter: @tumbleweedfarm_


End file.
